“I like her best at Fairfield,” Bessie thought, but Bessie liked everything best in the Forest.

Just before taking her leave my lady said abruptly to the young lady of the house, “An important sphere is open to you:  I hope you will be able to fill it with honor to yourself and benefit to others.  You have an admirable example of self-devotion, if you can imitate it, in Mrs. Chiverton of Castlemount.  She told me that you were school-fellows and friends already.  I was glad to hear it.”

These remarks were so distinctly enunciated that every eye was at once attracted to Bessie’s face.  She colored, and with an odd, fastidious twist of her mouth—­the feminine rendering of the squire’s cynical smile—­she answered, “Mrs. Chiverton has what she married for:  God grant her satisfaction in it, and save me from her temptation!” In nothing did Bessie Fairfax’s early breeding more show itself than in her audacious simplicity of speech when she was strongly moved.  Lady Latimer did not condescend to make any rejoinder, but she remarked to Mr. Fairfax afterward that habits of mind were as permanent as other habits, and she hoped that Elizabeth would not give him trouble by her stiff self-opinion.  Mr. Fairfax hoped not also, but in the present instance he had silently applauded it.  And Mr. Burleigh was charmed that she had the wit to answer so skilfully.

When my lady was gone, Bessie grieved and vexed herself with compunctious thoughts.  But that was not my lady’s last visit; she came over with Miss Charlotte another afternoon when Mr. Fairfax was gone to Norminster, and on this occasion she behaved with the gracious sweetness that had fascinated her young admirer in former days.  Bessie said she was like herself again.  At my lady’s request Bessie took her up to the white parlor.  On the threshold she stopped a full minute, gazing in:  nothing of its general aspect was changed since she saw it last—­how long ago!  She went straight to the old bookcase, and took down one of Dorothy Fairfax’s manuscript volumes and furled over the leaves.  Miss Charlotte drew Bessie to the window and engaged her in admiration of the prospect, to leave her sister undisturbed.

Presently my lady said, “Charlotte, do you remember these old books of Dorothy’s?” and Miss Charlotte went and looked over the page.

“Oh yes.  Dear Dorothy had such a pretty taste—­she always knew when a sentiment was nicely put.  She was a great lover of the old writers.”

After a few minutes of silent reading my lady spoke again:  “She once recited to me some verses of George Herbert’s—­of when God at first made man, how He gave him strength, beauty, wisdom, honor, pleasure, all to keep, but with repining restlessness.  They were a prophecy.  I cannot find them.”  She restored the volume to its shelf, quoting the last lines—­all she remembered distinctly: 

     “Let him be rich and weary, that at last,
     If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
       May toss him to my breast.”